Coffee and Croissants
by Spinnd
Summary: The first time she saw him, he recycled the rote "Cut it on a piece of glass" excuse. She knew he was hiding something, but she let him keep his secrets. An AU!story set from S9, beginning way back in S7.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: 7x04

**A/N: **In another world, they kept meeting in a London public hospital.

* * *

><p>The first time she met him, he recycled the rote "cut it on a piece of broken glass" excuse, and flashed her a knowing look that turned into an almost-smile. Her neutral reply, more noise than words, was indication enough that she knew he was hiding something, as the spooks that came through here were wont to do (she knew them by their eyes, sharp and charming and too inscrutable) but she let him keep his secrets, and probed no further.<p>

In return, he thanked her for stitching up the long slice running up the side of his hand (edges too regular for glass, more incision than laceration) and offered to bring coffee and croissants the next time he passed by. She politely declined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: 7x07

**A/N: **Morning coffee and post-mortems.

* * *

><p>The second time was a chance meeting in the hospital cafeteria, the morning after what must have been a rough night for him as well – from the way he guarded his coffee like his sanity depended on it (she knew the feeling). She smiled a greeting at him from a distance, and he nodded back an acknowledgement. She thought she saw a shadow of a bruise beneath his collar.<p>

She wondered if he had anything to do with the man in the morgue with the slit throat. But she never got the chance to ask, before he disappeared back into the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: 7x08

**A/N: **Not many people come to her asking for assessment of radiation exposure.

* * *

><p>The third time, he came in with a severe-looking blonde, looking like they had both been through a war. The hospital was quiet enough that she could seclude them in a treatment room, away from curious eyes, while she bustled about retrieving packs from the equipment trolley.<p>

She tried to attend to the lady first, but was quickly waved away.

"Don't bother, I'm fine. But he needs to get that checked out."

_That_, of course, being a gunshot wound to his right flank which had been hastily patched and concealed under his black jacket.

She moved him onto the bed, stripped him of his blood-soaked shirt (impressive tattoos, though she hadn't pegged him as the sort), and set up a line for fluids. The wound looked to be healing, if still sluggishly oozing, and while he didn't look to be in danger of exsanguinating, he was pale and quiet, and she wanted to be sure.

"It looks good," she said optimistically after the local anaesthetic allowed her a more thorough prodding and cleaning of the site. "Likely straight through the subcutaneous layer, though I'd still want a scan. Anything else I should know?"

The colleagues (definitely colleagues) shared a look. Blonde Lady fixed her with a stare, and said: "The fallout may or may not have been radioactive."

She was very sure she hadn't heard wrong, so after she had stitched the wound, she checked them both over quickly and took some bloods (she would have to call in a favour with Paul, again). Tried to book them into adjacent beds for the night, but when she returned to the room, they had already gone, leaving only dust on the floor and a thank-you note scribbled on a paper towel.

The handwriting was his, she was sure of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: 8x03

**A/N: **It was another post-mortem visit. Thanks everyone who has read and reviewed! Hope you're all enjoying this.

* * *

><p>Several months later, she saw them both again, fleetingly, exiting the lift that led up from the morgue. Another colleague dead? A friend?<p>

She wasn't sure she wanted to know, really.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: 8x08

**A/N: **Public hospitals are not the best places for high security**.**

* * *

><p>It was a police incident, a death in the hospital that was by no means natural since someone had shot the woman <em>in<em> _the_ _head_. Gareth got lumbered with the paperwork – his bad luck to have admitted her that morning with a bullet in her leg – but there was a certain disquiet to his usual complaints.

She had heard the code called, but had little time to stop and wonder whilst trying to resuscitate a man who overdosed on his anti-epileptics. She only really found out afterwards, when she retreated out the back for a smoke, and saw him slumped against a brick wall, his head in his hands.

He declined her offer of a fag; had enough composure to move to make room for her, and to remember, and apologize for, neglecting the promised croissants – she, on the other hand, had plumb forgotten them, and said so.

"Eidetic." He tapped the side of his head, and smiled through a grimace. "Pain in the arse."

She nodded sympathetically and extended a hand. "Maya."

"Robert." (Did he look like a Robert? Not really. Maybe a James.)

They shook hands, for the first time. She noticed the bloom of abrasions over his knuckles and felt a slight chill.

"I should've been there," he said. "She died because I wasn't there."

The woman who had been shot, and the scuffle in the east wing of Ward 5 - he had definitely been involved, then.

"I was in too deep, though. Got too close, got burnt."

There was more than survivors' guilt in his voice. He probably loved her in some way; still did. She knew that feeling, intimately - it had been the same with her and John, all those years ago.

Before she could return a reassurance, his mobile sounded.

"Back to work," he told her after he had finished the call. "Thank you, Maya."

She watched him head off down the alley. She knew part of her was waiting to see if he would look back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: **8x08**

**A/N: **He kept asking for her, this 'Ros'.

They brought him in by ambulance, amongst the others from smoking wreck of The Summit Hotel, a very familiar individual in a dark blue shirt on the stretcher, looking rather worse for wear.

Concussion possibly, the paramedics told her as they wheeled into the triage bay. And a few fractured ribs, but it was hard to tell, they had had a hard time keeping him still.

Still having, apparently, as he twisted his head around, gaze frantic, and would have dropped right off the narrow pallet if not for the straps securing him down.

He caught sight of her and pulled against the Velcroed restraints.

"Ros."

She smiled and patted his arm comfortingly. "No, it's Maya."

He shook his head, and winced behind his oxygen mask. "Ros."

"He keeps asking for her, this 'Ros'." The taller medic said.

He was less agitated after they managed to get a line in with the fentanyl and the midaz, and once the medics were sure they didn't need to put him in four point restraints and left, she pulled up a chair by the bed and watched him try to focus his eyes on her.

"Did you-" he coughed and swallowed a few times, "did you see her? Did she come in? Ros. Blonde, wearing… suit piece, black. She was with Lawrence, she would've come in with him."

She listened to his words slur as he began to lose the fight with the sedative (she didn't want to tell him, not until she was certain). She remembered now, this Ros. His -friend?- colleague, the one who was with him that November night.

"I was supposed to- supposed to go back. Was going back for her. To help her. Left her. Had to get him out. But I was going back."

She squeezed his hand, and felt a weak grip respond. His gaze slid blearily across hers.

"Was going back," he said, before he closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: **8x08**

**A/N:**It was easier getting water from a stone.

Thanks everyone for your reviews! Very much appreciated.

* * *

><p>She checked in on him as regularly as she could from thereon, reviewing his charts and medications daily even though he was no longer under her care. He was physically as fine as anyone could be after being caught in an explosion - two new rib fractures on X-ray in addition to older, healed-over ones; no intracranial bleeds, thankfully.<p>

He stayed a week. Kept very much to himself, even around her, and never asked after Ros anymore until the day another lady (brunette, large blue eyes) came to visit, and she walked in on their conversation about Alexander Pope.

"Ros would've approved." She heard him murmur as he flicked through a book. "Did you know Pope wrote this when he was twelve?" And the lady laughed.

She made a late decision to see him off when he was discharged, to wish him good luck, and advised him to stay away from exploding devices.

"I'm sorry about Ros." She added. "She must have been a nice person, and a good friend."

He looked amused at the notion of Ros being a 'nice person' (the security services must hire all sorts of unconventional).

"She was a good friend." He concurred.

"Hey," she stopped him on his way out, on a whim. "Talk to someone, will you? Losing two people you care about in one day - you can't just walk away from that and say you're fine."

His only reply was a throwaway smile (his spook smile, she'd come to realise, polished and hollow and made of misdirection) before he turned and headed through the sliding doors.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Meandering into S9 territory right about now.

**A/N: **When she said '_talk_ _to_ _someone'_, she meant '_get_ _professional_ _help'_. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing!

* * *

><p>Eighteen hours after a four-car pile-up on the M3, two fatalities, and an all-round generally ghastly day, he showed up past midnight on her doorstep with a bottle in hand, and she had to ask: "What do you think you're doing?"<p>

Talking to someone, he reminded her, and she had meant a shrink; obviously, he thought different.

"I suppose you tracked my home address on your system," she said, opening the door to let him in, and at least he had the decency to briefly look uneasy. They must be breaking every rule in his guidebook right about now.

"I don't see how this is going to work." She leveled her gaze at him as he popped the cork on the Semillon and filled the two glasses evenly (she didn't even want to think about how he knew - reds gave her migraines). "Aren't you sworn to secrecy under pain of death?"

He took a long pull that drained half his glass.

"If I wanted to discuss issues of national security, I'd be at the office."

She conceded him that, and tried to decide what to do if he started rambling on about the current run of atrocious weather.

In the end, they found themselves on opposite ends of the couch, having abandoned wine for green tea, watching _Antiques Roadshow_.

"If you came to talk, we might've missed the objective of tonight." She said over the closing credits, and he gave a slight shrug.

"I was rather enamoured by that Flemish sideboard. Just so you know."

And she had to laugh at that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Meandering into S9 territory right about now.

**A/N: **She would not have quite called this serendipity_._

* * *

><p>When he turned up at her place for a second time, she made a decision to negotiate.<p>

"I don't even know your name. And I'm not one to let strange men into my house."

He acknowledged her point before trying again - "Robert" - and he grinned sheepishly when she rolled her eyes at him.

At least a middle name, she tried, and watched him consider the barter for several long seconds, before he finally offered it to her.

"John."

It felt as if all the air had been crushed out of her lungs, hearing the name of her ex-fiancé, her first love, pass his lips, and if she looked askance, if he tilted his head down just so - there was more than a passing resemblance, beyond the same dark hair and light eyes (blue, though, not pale green).

"I knew a John once," she managed somewhat shakily. And he nodded, as if to say, _didn't we all. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Meandering through S9 territory right about now. Vaguest-of-vague spoilers for 9x02.

**A/N: **It was just dinner_._

* * *

><p>After a week of radio silence (not that they exchanged anything remotely close to contact numbers), she was definitely not expecting him to turn up at her workplace in the middle of the day. But she spotted him from the end of the corridor even as he was trying to be discrete about it by slouching low into the hardback seat, mercifully devoid of anything tacky (like flowers).<p>

"I was wondering-" he started when she came up to him, and she noticed instantly how open his face was, how bright his eyes were; how happy he looked.

She felt happy for him too.

So she accepted his invitation to dinner, _just dinner, a little celebration_ _for a good day at work_, and there was definitely more to it, but she didn't think it the best time and place to probe. He would tell her, later, she was certain.

When she agreed, with only the mildest hesitation, she decided that she really liked it when he smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Meandering through S9 territory right about now. Vague spoilers.

**A/N: **Morning-afters bring a special sort of clarity_._

* * *

><p>They lay awake in her bed as dawn stole in through the slats. In the fingers of light, she could make out the blue blurred lines of Blake etched on his chest.<p>

_This was a mistake_ - she could feel the unease stir in the back of her mind. This couldn't possibly end well.

But then he turned to face her, eyes dark and searching, and she remembered why she had more than welcomed this, welcomed him, into her life.

They might be searching for the same thing, after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. This chapter: **9x02**

**A/N: **Lost, and found.

* * *

><p>The Saturday morning had been plodding along relatively uneventfully, breakfast and laundry and mundane sundries, when the call came through.<p>

At first, it was nothing more than a sharp intake of breath, followed by silence and the distant sound of a jet engine winding down.

"Maya?" The voice inquired, and she suddenly lost all strength in her legs and had to sit down.

But it couldn't be -

"John?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Meandering through S9 territory right about now. Vague spoilers for 9x02, 9x03.

**A/N: **Love never dies. Unfortunately. - _Thanks everyone for your patience, and hope you've enjoyed this so far. Story should start to ramp up about now. :) _

* * *

><p>"Get away from me," she tells him, after she slaps him hard enough to leave her palm stinging. "Stay away from me."<p>

"Maya, wait." He takes hold of her arm, to stop her leaving, to make her listen. She doesn't want to listen, but she does, and hates herself for letting him drag her back into his mess of a life.

"Things are different now," he pleads (and the more things remain the same). "I'm home. I came home for you. I've started a business with a friend, and it's going well. We can be together again, and you won't have to work - we'll have money, we won't have to worry about anything."

She's heard this before, and believed it before. And it's tempting to fall back to the good old days and pretend like the past fifteen years never happened. She could be with her John again, like how she had always imagined her life to be.

"I need more time," she conceded feebly, and hurried out the room before she gave even more of herself away.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.

**A/N: **In the company of Messers M.V. Edwards, and J.R. Bateman. _- Look! An update, 2 years in the making! Timeline here is around 9x04-9x05, and some major plot details will be kept as from S9. Otherwise, thanks heaps for reading and reviewing everyone._

* * *

><p>In the end, she was persuaded to join her ex(fiancélover, what did titles matter nowadays) for an Italian dinner down Pimlico way where he introduced her to his business partner. And while Michael Edwards was a perfect gentleman quite unlike the sort she'd anticipated John to be working with, she was still skeptical.

"A delivery service?" She asked (curtly), and saw John grimace at her tone.

"Retrieval service," Michael corrected with a small smile. "You have no idea how many packages get lost en route or shipped to the wrong places. The ones that contain something valuable, treasured, especially - you can imagine how much their owners would like them back. Would pay to have them back."

It still didn't explain the fifteen-year absence, and she told John as much once they'd pulled up at her place.

"I know. It took me a while to find my feet. Ran with a bad crowd for some years. The things we did…" He looked slightly aghast at his confession. "I'm not proud of those years. But Vaughn took me under his wing, and gave me my life back. I'm a different man now."

He smiled, softly, and leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. She closed her eyes, and wanted so desperately to believe him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. Vague allusions to 9x05

**A/N: **John, meet John.

* * *

><p>With John back in her life, the days had been a blur of emotions and negotiations (some of it with John, mostly with herself). It was only when her spook turned up on her doorstep, that she realized she hadn't seen him in the three weeks since John arrived.<p>

"I-" she began, but had hardly composed herself when John stepped out behind her.

"Hi," he said in greeting, and she could hear the taint of wariness in his voice.

"Hello. Matthew Unwin. I'm here about the car?"

The car: the result of John's present when he decided to move in with her, a flashy Audi to replace her so-called 'utilitarian' Ford which subsequently went up on the online ads for sale. This morning.

"It's not been sold already, has it?" Matthew said (or Robert, or John, or whatever the hell alias he was using today) and pushed his unusually long fringe out of his eyes with a gangly awkwardness she'd never seen before.

She just about stopped herself in time from gawping, at this man standing in front of them seemingly unfazed, a casual customer in an innocent transaction. It was like everything about this situation was meant to be _perfectly normal._

John gave a small "ah", the frown furrowing his brow slowly eased.

"Yeah, it's round the back." He shifted to the side, swinging the door further open. "Come through, please. You can take a look, and we can negotiate the price after, if you're still interested."

Her spook smiled disarmingly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. **Hints of the 9x06 Albany plot, but it's Maya's perspective, so it's going to be groping around the dark for a bit more.

**A/N: **She hated what he was doing to her, though not as much as what she was doing to herself.

* * *

><p>She had been inordinately smug about tracking him all the four miles to Southwark Park, until she found him waiting patiently at the bandstand, arms folded and hip cocked against the white rails - like that had been his plan all along.<p>

"Mind telling me what all that was about?" She could hear her own snappish tone, but she did have to rush out of the house, lie to John about getting emergency groceries, and navigate London traffic with the new paddle gearbox. She deserved a good answer as to why Mr 007 here had tried to pull some surveillance stunt on her house an hour ago (and it was a piss poor attempt at it too).

His expression bordered guilty, but he wouldn't divulge much - managed to keep every answer ambiguous so far despite her best efforts.

"Am I in danger?" She finally asked, and felt her insides give a soft roil as she watched his gaze drop.

"We don't have sufficient intel at this point-"

"Just. Yes, or no."

Her spook rubbed an uneasy hand over his mouth, flashing that familiar line of white scar tissue.

"Do you think you're in danger?" He said, and she knew that that was her answer.

There was another question lingering on her lips (_John, oh god, why)_, but she didn't want to, or dare to, give it voice. She suspected she already knew the answer to that too. Too many pieces hadn't fit, too many missteps judged by her man who waltzed back into her life and tried to reclaim their past, and one night spent watching a car drive back from dark streets and darker secrets was one night too many.

So instead, she reached up to curl her hands around the shoulders of the man now in front of her. He let her draw him down into a kiss, a brushing of lips really, and waited with his forehead against hers.

"You're using me," she told him (not a question, no one's that's stupid). "You using me to get to John."

His grimace crinkled the skin of his brow. He shook his head, the movement small, hesitating, and it allowed her to harbour some strange hope that perhaps there had been something real between them, between her and this man whom she'd flirted and had dinner and _slept with_ - and she still didn't know his name.

She kissed him, on the cheek this time.

"Stay away from me," she said, and got a sad smile in return.

"Stay safe for me," he said, and her smile cracked before it could truly form.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x07. Also, language.**

**A/N: **The plot unravels, and things hit the fan. _- Here's to hoping the next few chapters after this here will be up within the week. Thanks again to all!_

* * *

><p>She had been gone a day. Two back-to-back A&amp;E shifts that were boring as they were brutal, and came back to the front door ajar and her house dark and silent.<p>

_Shit,_ was her first thought. _Fuck,_ her second.

_Am I in danger_, she had asked, and that had been a week ago, and she hadn't seen the spook since (and the Ford had been sold eventually to a young blonde lady), and it had been a week of second-guessing and looking over her shoulder, and waiting for the mask of John's soft smiles to crumble.

But if there were monsters under (or in) her bed, they had lain low. Until now, it seemed.

Glass crunched under her boot soles as she made her way inside. John hadn't answered when she called out his name, and part of her would rather he not be home, than to trip over or uncover a cooling corpse. She fumbled for her mobile.

"What is your emergency?" The voice sounded over the background beeping indicating her battery was running low.

She got as far as, "I think, my house -"

A bag over her head, suddenly, and arms pinning her arms around her waist, lifting her up, effortlessly up and around, and her heart pounded once, twice, hard against her chest.

Then she reared back and screamed, and struggled and kicked and pulled and fought for all that she was worth.

_Louder, scream louder! (Someone will hear, someone has to hear-) _But her voice only seemed to echo, muffled and weak, around her head.

Her last shove sent them barreling into - something, that crashed to the floor. She couldn't tell what it was, it was too disorienting in the suffocating black of the bag. She felt herself topple atop the bulkier frame and kicked out again -_away, get away!- _

Then she was tilting, and there's the coldness of a glass edge against her temple _(the coffee table, must be) _before a hand slammed her forward.

A sharp pain.

And nothingness.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x07.**

**A/N: **Negotiations and expositions. _My sincerest thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed thus far. And hope you'll continue to bear with me and the slow updates!_

* * *

><p>Disorientation, first: the world lurching beneath her and a leaden haze weighing on her limbs. Neck too stiff and sore, head down, and she can hear her own breathing.<p>

Then she tried to open her eyes. That's when the pain came, like a swing of a hammer and a shutter-flash of light all at once, and she gasped at the shock of it.

"Maya!" The voice was too loud, uncomfortably close, "Maya, can you - open your eyes, Maya, look at me. Maya."

She heard herself groan. "Yes, yes, all right."

The room came into view painfully slowly (emphasis: _painfully_). It took long, long minutes, but eventually, she could make out three men standing around her - John, Vaughn Edwards, and someone else.

'Someone else': short, slender, male, Oriental, crew cut, expensive suit. She had no doubt of who was in charge.

There was a burst of -Mandarin? Cantonese?- from the man, and Edwards' reply sounded surprisingly fluent. John remained crouched beside her, fists clenched, with obviously only a partial understanding from the frustrated tilt of his head. The voices dropped to a low buzz in her groggy state, until John suddenly stood to his feet and snapped:

"You still didn't have to bring her here. She shouldn't be involved in any of this!"

"You promised us the Albany files weeks ago, Mr Bateman," the Chinese man said, (accent almost-Manc), "and we have been very patient. But as with all things, we have our limits. Ms Lahan is to remain here as incentive; surely you cannot fault us for obtaining some _insurance_ of your cooperation in a venture such as this."

_Insurance._ Well. At least that meant she still had some worth (and she had heard of this 'Albany' before, heard John mention it several times - always when he thought he'd been alone).

John glanced at her, then at the men, and back at her again. He looked angry, and terrified.

"We'll get it. We just need more time, but we're close, very close. Just, just-please, please just let her go."

The shrill tone of a mobile left a sharp pain ringing in her head. The Chinese man was silent as he put it to his ear and hummed something before he shut it off.

"Twelve hours, Mr Bateman," was all he said, and she watched as he slid a handgun out from inside his coat.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x07. And language.**

**A/N: **This may be the first he was honest, properly honest, with her.

* * *

><p>She watched the two men pace (out of instinct, she supposed) - keep sights on the enemy, anticipate, be prepared. But it also most certainly made her nauseous, and it was only pride that kept her from throwing up. For a doctor, she didn't deal with pain very well.<p>

Vaughn did most of the talking, had done, since their Chinese friend left. She caught smatterings, words like "contact" and "MI5" and "he says there's been a delay". John would snap on occasion, firing back with "useless Russian shite" and "he fucks this up, and I'll kill him."

It all sounded proper cloak and dagger espionage stuff - Le Carre couldn't come up with a better yarn. But _why_, why the hell was she mixed up in all this? The thought was accompanied by another roll of nausea (she definitely was not made for this).

Her attention was redirected when Vaughn, obviously having said something wrong, got pinned against the wall by an irate John, who was close to screaming - _something -_, and it left a cold sour clench in her guts, recognizing this unpredictable, violent side to him.

"You better go before I string you up by your balls," she heard John snarl, and Vaughn shoved him off before stomping quickly towards the doors.

"John?" She tried, tentatively, after a few minutes. John just kept his gaze fixed on the iron gate, his back to her, tensed.

"John," she repeated, with more force, and no small amount of unconcealed impatience. His head whipped around, and she balked at the sight of the tears in his eyes.

"Maya, I'm… I - this wasn't meant to happen, Maya, I'm so sorry," he was beside her in two strides, down on his knees next to her, "you shouldn't be here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"What is going on, John?" She ground out, teeth set so hard it made her chest hurt. "You tell me what's going on. You tell me the truth - I deserve to know the truth."

His lips paled as he pressed them into a hard line, and for a moment it seemed that he would still keep his silence, even after everything. But he shifted his gaze from her to the floor eventually, and spoke - of covert operations and unsanctioned trades, faceless men and weaponised projects, shadow organizations and intelligence groups vying for reports and files and experimental data.

His 'delivery service' was a barter post for black market information, their retrievals a procurement of confidential state secrets, clients and employers ranging from National Security agencies to splinter terrorist cells. As Vaughn had said, there were those willing to pay the price to obtain that which they deemed 'valuable'.

There was a tempest surging through her at his words. She couldn't deal with this, the hurt and betrayal and confusion, the sheer anger that John had fucked things up_ again,_ obfuscations and lies now coming forth when he said - _he promised - _he'd left his past transgressions behind. And that stupid desperate desire, still flickering, that everything could (would) somehow miraculously work out and that they had a chance at some semblance of a life together.

She steeled a breath to stop herself from screaming.

All this on top of a throbbing headache. (And _fuck_, the rope ties were tight.)

"This was supposed to be my last run," John continued, head bowed and caught up in his own misery. "It was supposed to be _simple. _Our Russian guy in Thames House, he said he had the access, the means; he said he could get it, but where the fuck is he? It's just one bloody file, a fucking Cold War relic, I don't even know why the CSS want it so badly. "

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, tried to lift his gaze. "The new life I promised you - us, together. I meant it. I meant all of it."

It was she that turned away this time (she had to).

"Don't," she warned. "Don't you dare spin me this tragic romance bullshit, John. I've heard it one too many times, and I'm sick to death of it. You say these things, but never once do you actually, _actually_, act on them."

She mustered all her strength, and focused her storm of emotions into a glare.

"You want this? You want this badly enough? Then you bloody fight your way out of Hell for it!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x07 - 9x08.**

**A/N**: Traumatic stress did wonders for her sense of humor. - _Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone!_

* * *

><p>She'd hit a nerve; could tell by his pacing, his avoidance of her in general and, well, he had never been one for constructive feedback. (She stops her smirk - shame on her, laughing at a time like this.)<p>

The rope tightened around her wrists and ankles as she (discretely, hopefully) squirmed to loosen the bonds, pretty much the opposite effect of what she was intending, and her frustration burned as even rubbing her ties along the grating merely chafed and broke skin.

She glared at the back of him. But in her slowly mounting panic allowed herself the dangerous sentiment of hope. Because John would do something. He wouldn't let them kill her - _would he?_

Short of a Houdini, she would have to wait to find out.

_How fatalistic. _Her lips quirked again.

So she waited. And he waited. And her fingers went numb and the part of her screaming to_ run_ only got louder as the hours went on, but really, the loudest voice in her head was the one that wanted John to just pick up the phone and tell the lot of them to _get stuffed._

His mobile buzzed minutes later, by some happy coincidence. Less happy was his countenance, already scowling and aggrieved, now positively disbelieving and devsatated by turns. Livid. Broken.

"No," was all he said before he hung up.

Then Vaughn returned. Gun in hand. And John, John drew his own.

"I'm sorry," both of them said.

And she never could remember who fired the first shot.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now.**

**A/N**: First, do no harm.

* * *

><p>In Emergency, blood and screaming were a daily occurrence. Hourly, if she was particularly unlucky - or if someone made the unforgivable flub of using the Q-word on call (Higgins. It was always Higgins.) Still, doctors had to do as doctors do, and any squeamish discomfort had to be put away when the crash trolley came barreling through.<p>

So she surprised herself when she had to make John stop the car so she could kneel by the pavement and throw up violently. She had not done that since she was first year out.

The nausea cleared just as her mind did - not that that was a good thing. She could picture the spray of red as the bullet entered Vaughn's abdomen (upper left quadrant; stomach, spleen, perforation, haemorrhage). Could hear, almost as if she were back there again, the sharp exhaled gasp, then the thump of his body on the concrete floor - then, once the pain registered, the screaming started.

Her hands were shaking when she finally sat back, mouth bitter with bile and memory.

"Maya." The hand on her back was large and warm. "It's all right. You're safe now. We'll get out of this, I promise."

She let her laugh out this time (let him chalk it down to shock and nerves.) He wouldn't understand, she knew, he wouldn't understand that everything he'd done went so fundamentally against all she believed in. He wouldn't understand, in saving her life, that he might have just damned his. That there was no way out now, and no way back.

She laughed, she supposed, for the life they had just lost.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now. And some language.**

**A/N: **Love is patient, love is blind.

* * *

><p>The suite was a good deal swankier than what she had anticipated. On any other occasion, the chocolate truffles would've been wolfed down and the entire range of toiletries swiped within the hour.<p>

Instead, it's not until John had his arms wrapped around from behind her, that she realised she had been staring out the sunbright window since they arrived.

"You okay?" He whispered. He was shirtless, smelling of whatever citrus fragrance was in the soap, hair still wet from the shower. He felt solid behind her. It shouldn't be as reassuring as it was.

She drowned her thoughts in the kiss she gave him, one that seemed to take him by surprise, but was eagerly returned.

Clothes spilled to the floor; her blouse and slacks, two days old and marked with sweat and dust; his jeans, belt buckle clattering loudly, and he was naked underneath.

_Make me forget,_ _just for a while._ In words, it came out of her mouth as, "get on with it already, you bastard."

His smile was infuriating (as always) as he lifted her up and carried her to bed.

Later - much later, in the last vestiges of sunset - she heard a familiar buzz from the coffee table. From behind closed eyes, she listened as he retrieved and answered his mobile.

"Yes," he said, and, "tomorrow."

A pause.

"Of course. We had a deal."

Silence, before a quiet laugh.

"You almost got me killed, you fuck. Why should I believe anything you say?"

He hung up, then seemed to pace the room, putting clothes back on and packing things away. It went on for - however long it did. She was still waiting for him to return to bed when his footsteps moved away suddenly, the main door opened, and closed, and she opened her eyes to an empty room.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S7 through to S9.** Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now. **

**A/N: **Concrete dust and paper towels, her mind recalled. _- Thanks everyone reading so far!_

* * *

><p>She slept in until eight - managed somehow to drift off waiting for John to come back, and the sun was hot and white across her sheets by the time she came round and jerked herself awake.<p>

More than twelve hours now, and John was still nowhere to be found (panicking was starting to sound like a good option).

No note either, hard as she looked, but then came a knock, and a waiter with a room service trolley was waiting outside when she opened the door. It was a serving of eggs benedict and an _"Enjoy_" scribbled on a card, signed off _John _in a familiar script.

In the time it took her to realise that the handwriting was familiar for all the wrong reasons, the waiter had pushed past her and slammed the door shut behind them.

She would've screamed if not for instantly recognising that pair of sharp blue eyes when the cap came off.

_No, _she told herself firmly. "Get out," she told him, fiercely.

Her spook sighed. "Maya..."

"I don't want to hear it, any of it." (She meant it.)

"I know," he said, gently, as if talking to a child, and that irked even worse. "But you need to."

And damn him, of course he was right.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: **BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings: ***Spoilers for S7 through to S9. **Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now**

**A/N:** Truth is the daughter of time. - _Thank you everyone for reading, and waiting for updates. There will hopefully be regular updates from now 'til the end of the run. :)_

* * *

><p>She glared as he pushed the breakfast plate closer to her across the foldable table - a paltry peace offering, with a side of Hollandaise.<p>

"If you've come to tell me John's in trouble, you're bit late for that."

The man before her folded himself into the curved armchair, hands clasped before him, and looked up at her.

"And if you're wanting to tell me I'm in danger, it's a bit late for that too," she snapped before he got a chance to speak.

Something like a mix of guilt and exasperation crossed his face, but he cleared his throat and tried instead: "How much do you know about 'Albany'?"

That word again, that name. She pulled the robe around her tighter.

"Enough. Whatever it is, people want it, are desperate enough to lie and steal and kill for it."

"And what about Dakar?"

She frowned. That was new. And she told him as much.

Her spook rubbed a hand over his face - it suddenly struck her how tired he looked.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to know, I suppose," he said. "All the lying, stealing, killing - as you put it."

And so he explained, in exacting detail, what and how John had been involved in Dakar those 15 years ago. Embassy bombing with several casualties. Near-murder of an MI5 agent working undercover. And since then, other intelligence leaks and threats to British national security, as well as enough deals to put him on the radar of several defence agencies the world over.

"He was working under Vaughn's directions, that much we know; at least Vaughn admitted as much when he tried to secure himself an extradition deal. Vaughn was the real catch but that's a dead-end at this point."

(She wondered if that pun had been intentional.)

"Vaughn's alive?"

"Yes, in our custody. He's safely out of the picture; it's John Bateman we're concerned about now."

"You think John might do something... dangerous?"

"I know he wants to get out, start over. And that he's willing to do anything for it. For a chance with you."

"What's so special about Albany?"

His smile was genuine, and sad. "Nothing at all."

She understood then. A ruse. A trap.

"You're his contact. The MI5 insider - the- the _Russian_?"

"One doll inside another, inside another." He quipped, then looked vaguely discomfited. "I'm sorry you had to be caught up in this. You should never have been involved."

She couldn't tell if he was lying. "Did you know, when we first - how long have you known about John? About me?"

"Maya I swear it didn't start that way," his hands gripped his knees. "The first time we met, was nothing more than what it was. At the hospital; you remember?" - he held out his left hand, and of course she remembered - "And this," - he hiked up his shirt and showed off the bullet scar - "then Sarah, then Ros."

His face was tight with remembered grief.

"The deal went wrong today. John escaped, has my friend now, Ruth. He's going to kill her. But you can stop him, Maya. You can stop him from hurting any more people, innocent or otherwise."

Why should I help you, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. Even when he finally left, and her breakfast sat cold and congealed before her, she couldn't bring herself to refuse him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: **BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings: ***Spoilers for S7 through to S9. **Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now**

**A/N:** Of monsters and men.

* * *

><p>Her breakfast was still untouched hours later when the lock on the door buzzed with a swipe card, and John pushed through with two holdall bags, looking like he'd been run ragged, eyes burning bright and hot.<p>

"We have to go," he said curtly, not looking at her.

She did not look at him, likewise, and did not move from where she was curled up in the armchair, still wrapped in the hotel robe, knees to her chest. He moved around cagily, packing away room items and wiping down every conceivable surface with a microfibre cloth.

"Maya?" He said when he was done, looking up in surprise, as if only just realising how distant (_deliberately_ distant) she had been this entire time. John crossed the room and came to kneel beside her. "Maya, we need to go. I've got us on a private plane out; we're nearly there, Maya."

She considered how she would, should, answer. How much she shoud tell him, about her spook and his words - and whom would you trust, between a liar and a liar?

"Where would we go?" She settled on asking, playing along (the damsel and her knight), and was rewarded with a small hopeful smile, and he looked like her John once more.

"Anywhere. We could go anywhere; do anything."

He handed her one of the holdalls; he'd been back to the house, had managed to scrape together what was left of their wardrobe and safe box after the ransacking. "Thought you'd want some fresh clothes."

Inside the Highlander - several blouses and pairs of jeans, her favourite hairbrush, a wad of cash, a passport for _Leila Roth._

Play along, she reminded herself. Play along until you find the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

But the gnawing unease only grew as she took her time, showered and changed and readied herself, emerging from the bathroom to see John ready and waiting.

Down the elevator, out into the lobby where they dropped the keys with the happily sweaty concierge. Out to the pavement, where they passed a strikingly familiar lady in a business suit, unsmoked cigarette in her hand, and a hard gaze.

"Lucas trusts you, Maya," she said as they walked by.

John whirled around. Stared. "What?"

"He trusts you to do the right thing." The lady continued. "You cannot walk away now."

John looked close to murderous, even in his confusion, but she pulled him away as he turned to advance on the smaller woman. They held each other's gaze, before the blonde shifted her eyes slowly to John with a small head tilt, then pivoted on a sharp heel and walked away.

It was only in the Audi, seated on the leather that had heated whilst waiting out by the valet, that the memory of her Ford came back to her, along with its smiling new buyer.

_The buyer. The lady. The yet-another spook. _

_('I'm Beth, nice to meet you.")_

"John," she said, finally, as they pulled out onto the motorway and merged into traffic, "what did you do?"

"Nothing," he growled, and the guarded look was back again - only now, pinched with a distinct unhappiness.

"This doesn't seem like nothing. "

The car swerved dangerously, and a horn blared from their right. John kept his eyes on the road, but his knuckles were tight around the wheel. Several minutes of silence passed, then he was pulling left, exiting into a merging road that took them out almost immediately into a country lane flanked by high hedges.

"It doesn't matter," he began, "we're leaving this all behind us. Things will be different now."

And that was when she knew that things would _never_ be different, that John could never leave this life behind him, and that, in the end, she never had a choice.

No choice, but only to do the right thing.

The passenger door swung open, and there was a screech of brakes, and a yell.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: **BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings: ***Spoilers for S7 through to S9. **Spoilers: 9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now**

**A/N:** Second life lessons are no easier.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck, Maya?"<p>

Stopped almost in a ditch, and they were both out their sides, her door ajar, John slamming his closed with a shuddering bang.

"What's wrong with you?" He snapped and she's reared to her full height, still inches shorter, but she'd rounded the front and was up in his face, forcing him to lean back to look down at her.

"I should ask you the same," she ground out, struggling for breath and words. "You abducted an MI-5 officer, you're going to _kill_ an MI-5 officer - and for what? This so-called second chance at life?"

He turned pale at her words.

"How did you know?"

"They told me. MI-5. I-" She faltered, for a moment, but there was no going back now. "He told me, one of their officers. They had tracked us to the hotel - just before you came back, he came to the room."

The suspicion and surprise, she had anticipated, even the hurt, but the gust of anger that blew through him shook them both.

"So what did you tell him? You told him about me?" Lips curled in a fierce sneer, and the sting from his words was mixed with a (unfounded?) guilt that had her similarly furious at him, and at herself.

"I told him _nothing._ But he told me everything, John. About what you're trying to do, why you're doing them, why you're running. About Vaughn and your history with him. About Dakar."

John looked close to collapsing at the sound of the word, face crumpling for a moment before blank shock veiled over.

"That was a long time ago. Dakar was - " his words choked off.

"Dakar was the past. I know. But can you not see how it's repeating itself, John? Everything that happened is happening, again."

"You told me to," he murmured, voice thick with a clog of emotions. "You said to fight. To fight for this chance, this life."

"I know," she shook her head, stepping back. "And I'm sorry, but not at the expense of another's."

John shook his head, his anger returning. "You would give all this up - for someone you don't even know? Some... _woman?_"

_"_Ruth."_ (He'd said.)_ "Her name is Ruth."

She took another step back.

"You have to stop this, John. You can still save her - you don't have to take another life."

His face was steeled cold, but his eyes flared with a thousand considerations at her words, and yet, she would never know what John's decision was. Not when the roar of engines behind them heralding the two unmarked cars that came barreling around the bend.

Strong hands gripped her, pulling her back against a solid body, and they ducked behind their car.

"Bateman!" She heard that familiar voice call, as the vehicles halted and doors swung open and weapons clicked.

John's grip froze on her arm, and she watched as his face contorted in outright fury. He let her go with a shove to the ground, raising both hands to bring a handgun to bear as he stood up from behind their cover.

"_You bastard_."


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings:** *Spoilers for S7 through to S9. **Spoilers**: **9x08; heading properly into plot spoiler territory now**

**A/N:** The road was paved with good intentions. _Thanks everyone who's read and reviewed, and waited for the update!_

* * *

><p>"John, стоп. It's over."<p>

She heard his voice, Lucas' voice, clear and calm like she'd first remembered it. Her penchant for ITV crime dramas flagged that tone as 'negotiating'. Placating. The police officer talking down an armed suspect.

It did nothing of that sort for John.

"I should have known." John merely tightened his grip on the gun, and re-adjusted his aim. "сукин сын. You were stringing me along all the way, weren't you? Had me fooled too - your Russian is impressive."

"I've had ample practice." Her spook's voice was clipped now, walking a tightrope of control. "Come on, John. Let's end this quietly."

A shaking laugh strained out of him. "The only way this ends, is with me giving Albany to the Chinese. After that, I'm going to disappear. And when I'm safely away, then you can have your friend back. But she doesn't have much time. I suggest you let me go."

Lucas shook his head. "I cannot do that."

"More's the pity," John sneered, though she could still see his leg trembling - a stress response, from the first time she knew him.

She took advantage of his present distraction to stand, slowly, to her feet. Watched as several pairs of eyes snapped up to track her - she saw her spook, the blonde girl again, and another young man in a navy blue jacket. Acutely aware of the eyes and guns, she moved back around John, came up on the other side right next to him.

"John." She looked at him, truly looked at him. "Please. Please stop."

"Maya," John pleaded, "we can do this. Just - just this one thing. It's just a file, that's all they want. A file."

"A classified military research file," Lucas corrected. "Bioweapons, with genocidal potential. Highly secret, very dangerous."

"If it actually worked." The blonde woman added.

John stared, the muzzle of his gun lowering. "What?"

Lucas had advanced closer to them now; not by much, but she noticed all the same. "It never got past the first phase of trial. The materials were too unstable, the results not reproducible. They aborted it at the primary stage."

"But - word on the ground... the Chinese, even the Russians -"

"A good deterrent for us. But nothing would have come of it. Half the results were doctored, the other half scrambled. That's what is in the file, John. Numbers. Your CIS friends wouldn't be very pleased with mere numbers."

"Lies!"

"You willing to take that risk, John? They pay you millions and you give them a dud program? Do you think you'll ever outrun them then?"

"I don't believe you."

Lucas laughed, and it slid through the air like the whistle of a guillotine. "You don't have to. But if you think we would have bartered that file you hold, if it had even the slightest potential, and used it for something as trivial as bait..."

"You underestimate our duty to Queen and country. And overestimate your worth to us." His colleague, Beth, added.

John rocked back, as if slapped. "I- I have... so I have nothing?"

The words had a finality to them, a sense that the end of a tunnel was coming up. But even though the relief was flooding through her, it hurt her to see John thus - head bowed, arms and shoulders slumping under an unseen weight.

"You can still do something, John," she added. "You can still save Ruth. Just tell us where she is."

When he looked up, all traces of the man she knew was gone.

"Tell _'us'_?"

Slip of the tongue, a horridly wrong phrase that she'd never meant but _well_ she'd said it now, and there was no taking them back. She instinctively backed further away from him, rounding the car's front, out into open space.

"You were with them all this time, Maya? With him?" There was a strange light sparked in his eyes, glazed and feral.

"John, I've told you -" she scrambled.

"Maya had nothing to do with this - " Lucas said, at the same time.

"Shut up!" The wavering gun snapped back up, and Lucas immediately responded in kind. She was halfway between them now, an ocean away from either side, and the bridge was starting to crumble.

The gun was leveled now at her chest, then swinging up to the man behind her, then back down again.

"He's your spook from the hotel, is he not? Your spy lover? And before, I've seen him somewhere too."

_The car, _she thought, but decided to keep her mouth shut.

"Just tell us where Ruth is, John." The tone was low and quiet now, and dangerous - as dangerous as Lucas' gun now steadily aimed at John's increasingly agitated form. "We can cut you a deal if you cooperate with us. You can still come out of this, and that's more than what your Chinese friends will do for you."

_If you cooperate._ She swallowed hard. _Please, John, just -_

She didn't get to finish that thought before the gunshot went off, loud and final.


End file.
